


Say a Prayer and Let the Good Times Roll

by ShadowsIllusionist



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Other, bucky's many issues, eventual OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsIllusionist/pseuds/ShadowsIllusionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Bucky was honest with himself, he’d admit that he was a little jealous, of both of them. He envied what they had in each other, what he could have had with either of them. </p><p>In which: Bucky's come out of the worst, but it’s still a long way to go until things get better. Steve and Natasha are there for him though, even if he doesn’t want them to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demons Biting At Your Heels

**Author's Note:**

> This story initially started out as a one-shot but I realize it was getting to be too long so I've split it up. It was partially written for a friend who really enjoys the OT3 pairing of Bucky/Steve/Natasha, which this will eventually end up being.

Coming back from it all was slow.

Bucky remembered being held in the SHIELD infirmary for months until the days melted together like the memories in his head. Too often, he woke up not knowing who he was or where he was. In times like those, he thrashed and fought in his confusion until the sharp sting of a hypodermic needle sent him back into merciful unconsciousness.

Those were the better days.

On the worse days, he did remember. In fact, he remembered more than he cared to. He remembered sunny days in Brooklyn, lounging out on the fire escape with a skinny, asthmatic boy whose face boasted the brightest smile he’d ever seen. He also remembered dark, blood-drenched rooms where there was nothing but him, his knife, and half a dozen butchered corpses lying at his feet.

Bucky Barnes’ memories. The Winter Soldier’s memories. Both were a tangled mess in his head.

* * *

 

It was weeks before Bucky settled into this new “normal” of working for SHIELD.

Just five days after he’d broken through HYDRA’s programming, sitting there in his cell trying to come to terms with all that he’d done and trying to decide how the hell he was supposed to put that all behind him, Nick Fury paid an unexpected visit. The director of SHIELD cut an imposing figure standing in the doorway of his cell, and Bucky was instantly on edge.

“At ease, soldier,” said Fury, before walking carefully to stand before the small cot Bucky was sitting on.

Bucky didn’t quite relax. He was quiet as his eyes followed Fury across the room, waiting for him to offer some explanation for the visit. He didn’t have to wait long. Nick Fury didn’t beat around the bush.

“I’m here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

Bucky blinked. “Come again?”

‘Avengers’? Weren’t those the people who’d helped catch him? Natasha Romanoff and…

“It’s a group of…superheroes…for lack of a better word,” continued Fury. “They protect the world and its stability. I’d like you to join.”

Surely he’d misheard. Of all the reasons Nick Fury would willingly waltz into his cell—the Winter Soldier’s cell—this was the last thing Bucky had in mind. The idea was so ridiculous that Bucky almost laughed right in Fury’s face. After everything he’d done…it was a surprise they hadn’t killed him when they’d first captured him.

“You’re must be kidding. I nearly broke your world.”

“That’s true,” agreed Fury. “And you would have, as well, if not for the timely intervention of some of our best agents.” Fury took a step closer and Bucky had the distinct sensation of being backed into a corner. “But now I want you to help them rebuild that world. If you feel even the slightest bit of remorse for what you did, Sergeant Barnes, then this would be a good way to atone for it.”

It was true. The guilt had been eating him alive ever since he got his memory back. He remembered all the horrific things the Winter Soldier had done and it tore him apart. Sure, he hadn’t been in control but it still couldn’t erase the memory of pulling the trigger, the resounding crack of the bullet tearing through his victims’ skulls, or the deep red pools that stained the ground in his wake. It was enough to make him wake up vomiting in the middle of the night.

He shook his head. “You should have just killed me.”

Fury seemed to consider this for a moment. “Yes, well, that was the initial plan.”

“Then what stopped you?” asked Bucky, genuinely curious.

The corner of Fury’s mouth twitched slightly. “You have a skillset that’s very valuable. However, the Council still ordered your termination, citing that you were too dangerous to let live. Let’s just say there was someone who was willing to move heaven and earth, fight gods and men, to give you a second chance. I think, for his sake, you’d better reconsider my offer.” Without another word, Fury left, leaving a stunned Bucky to ponder his options.

* * *

 

In the end, he chose to join the Avengers and work for SHIELD. There wasn’t much else he could do. Bucky wasn’t so naïve as to think that after everything that’s happened, he could just waltz back into the civilian lifestyle. Things just didn’t work that way. While the programming had been broken, there was just too much about him that was no longer normal. His carefully honed fighting instincts were still there. He still subconsciously scanned and catalogued all the exits in any room he entered. He still didn’t feel complete without the cold steel of a Beretta 9mm pressed against his lower back. All those things aside, there was still the matter of his less-than-human arm.

So Bucky settled for making this his new ‘normal,’ because he owed it to Steve to at least try at life again. Steve, his best friend and the one he’d tried so damn hard to kill on numerous occasions, who took his punches and held him down when he was having one of his fits in the middle of his deprogramming, who Bucky later learned had put his career on the line to argue for his best friend’s life. Bucky was sure that even if he lived ten lifetimes, he could never make up everything he owed to Steve. From the orphanage when they were little, to the midst of war and seventy years later, Steve was still by his side.

That didn’t mean things between them had returned to the way it was before Bucky had fallen off the train. If anything, things had become more strained after Bucky joined SHIELD.

When he was still recovering in SHIELD custody and fighting the programming, he remembered Steve visiting him nearly every day. Bucky was too out of it to remember much except that Steve talked to him during those times. Held him down when necessary but mostly, he just talked. The specific details were blurry but Steve’s voice had been soothing. It reminded him of days long-gone when the two of them would huddle under the covers in their small Brooklyn apartment, trading promises and stolen kisses.

When Bucky could properly sort out his memories from the Winter Soldier’s memories, he often revisited that time. It was before the war, when things were much simpler. They only had each other then. It was during one of those times that Bucky had made a promise he swore on his life he’d keep: he’d be there for Steve and would always protect him.

He’d kept that promise even after Steve was no longer the frail, sickly boy who Bucky bailed out of back alley fights but Captain America, a hero and symbol for all. Even then, he hadn’t so much as hesitated to follow Steve back into the front lines where he quietly watched Steve’s back and sniped every enemy that tried to sneak up behind them. He’d kept that promise all the way up until the day they went after Zola. Right up until the metal railing broke and he plummeted into an icy cold expanse with Steve’s roar of despair still ringing in his ears.

He woke up some time later, not as himself but as something different, entirely remade. He fought alongside a fiery red-headed woman who he used to call Natalia. He thinks he might have loved her, but not in the same way he’d loved Steve because he didn’t remember Steve. Just when he thought that he had it all figured out, everything went black again. The next time he woke up—really woke up—he was face-to-face with his best friend who was bleeding from multiple wounds that Bucky himself had inflicted. The shock and the horror nearly crippled him as he let go of the knife and dropped to his knees, shaking with the dawning realization of what he was doing and not understanding why he was doing it at all. He just knelt there, shaking, even as Steve dropped down and enveloped him in an embrace Bucky didn’t think he deserved at all, muttering comforting words like “it’s going to be okay, Buck. It’s going to be okay.”

It was never going to be okay. He’d broken his promise.

* * *

 

Bucky was on probationary Avengers status because SHIELD technically didn’t fully trust him yet. The Council had only granted Fury’s proposal on the condition that Bucky moved into Stark Tower alongside the other team members where all the Avengers and Tony Stark’s near-sentient AI could watch over him.

Meeting the rest of the Avengers team was an awkward affair. He’d only fought against Natalia (who now called herself Natasha) and Steve because the others were either away on assignment or preoccupied with one thing or another.

Now the whole team was gathered in the same Tower as him and it was made clear, in no uncertain terms, that until he could prove himself trustworthy they would treat him as anything but. Steve had bristled angrily at their distrust but couldn’t do anything about it. Their worries were well-founded, after all. Natasha was the only other person besides him who hadn’t looked at Bucky with wary eyes, but Bucky supposed it was because she had probably gone through a similar ordeal when she switched allegiances and understood him better than most.

Bucky initially had a hard time believing this was the group of heroes that Fury—and the world—placed so much faith in. They were a mismatched lot, half of whom weren’t even military. A couple of trained assassins, a defrosted super soldier, a man who turned mean and green when he got angry, a billionaire who flew around in a red and gold tin can, and the crown prince of another realm who spent his free time lounging on Earth. It made so much sense when he found out that their heroic team effort in diverting the alien invasion of New York had been mostly a thing of circumstance.

It didn’t matter too much though. Bucky himself was an anomaly as well, so he just brushed the Avengers off as one of the more minor issues of what was going on in his life right now.

The other thing that surprised Bucky about the current situation (one that he couldn’t quite ignore despite his best efforts) was Steve and Natasha. Well, more specifically, Steve with Natasha. Obviously their relationship status was known to the rest of the team because nobody bats an eye when Steve loops an arm around Natasha’s waist when he plops down on the common room sofa with her, or the kiss he plants on her cheek right after. Tony even makes the occasional crude jokes towards them that have no effect on Natasha but send a mad blush creeping across Steve’s face.

It made Bucky feel…weird. He’d dated Natasha and thinks he might have loved her just before he was put on ice again. He and Steve had had something too, however brief and undefined it was, before his ‘death’. That was seventy years ago though, and Steve was allowed to move on. Bucky just didn’t expect moving on to mean hooking up with Natasha—his Natalia—especially since he never even expected to see either of them again.

If Bucky was honest with himself, he’d admit that he was a little jealous, of both of them. He envied what they had in each other, what he could have had with either of them.

No, that wasn’t true. He was looking back through rose-tinted glasses. He and Steve had lived in an age where love between two men was forbidden and looked down on with disgust. That’s why they had to hide it behind closed doors and make love in hushed voices. It would have never lasted. He remembered when Steve became infatuated with Peggy and his own stirrings of jealousy when Steve gave her the soft glances he had previously reserved for Bucky alone. Still, he would have shot himself before he let his love for Steve tarnish the other man’s reputation as Captain America.

With Natalia, it had started as a thing of convenience. Both tools of the Red Room, they found comfort in each other. Sooner or later, their superiors would have found out about their tryst and broken them up—which they did. Involvement between two agents was forbidden because it decreased their effectiveness in the field, or so they were told. Love was a hindrance and there was no place for weakness in their lives. What happened between them didn’t start as love but with time, the meetings became less about fulfilling a physical need but an emotional one.

Bucky remembered cradling her after a botched mission, her blood staining his hands red, praying to whatever god that would listen to a man like him to please not let her die. Rescue came just in time to prevent her from bleeding out and Bucky remembers how he was almost giddy with relief when she opened her eyes and smiled at him, her fingers brushing his. That small gesture had been reported. They were separated soon after that. He was put back on ice.

He supposed if they were happy, he should be happy. He would have never been good enough for either of them anyways. If they had found happiness in each other, he wouldn’t come between them. It was enough for him that they were both alive and both still in his life, he told himself. He silenced the small part of him that still craved for Steve’s kiss or Natasha’s fingers raking through his hair.

Bucky let them be and never made any mention of any of their pasts together. He wouldn’t ruin what they had by dredging up any unwanted memories. He still had his own problems to deal with, so the matter of Steve’s involvement with Natasha was their own, no matter how much it pained him to see them together.

* * *

 

He was given the floor just above Steve’s, not due to his own choice but because it was the only floor not currently taken or undergoing repairs from an accident involving Bruce Banner a week before he was transferred over. Bucky would have preferred just about any other floor, though. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be near Steve. He just…didn’t. It wasn’t right. Bucky felt like he’d disappointed Steve in the worst way possible. Bucky had been a strong man and a hero in Steve’s eyes, not a warped killer. That image had been shattered the first time his mask came off in the middle of Steve’s fight against the Winter Soldier.

He should have been stronger. He should have resisted their brainwashing and died a good man, not with the blood of innocents staining his hands.

Living on adjacent floors meant Bucky ran into Steve (and to a certain extent, Natasha) more than he did any other member of the team. For the first while, Steve did his best to reach out to Bucky as much as he could, even if Bucky just pushed him away. He greeted Bucky in the halls as if nothing had changed, or tried to.

“Hey Buck,” he’d begin.

“Hey.”

“If you’re not busy later, you want to head downtown with me to pick up some stuff?” It was Steve’s way of inviting Bucky to talk to him. Maybe he was hoping it would help.

It was no secret that many nights, the Winter Soldier’s memories would overtake Bucky and he would awake to the sound of his own screams. Tony may have sound-proofed the Tower, or so he claims, but Bucky was willing to bet that with his super hearing, Steve could hear it on the floor just below him. In fact, if the slightly pitying looks the rest of his team mates shot him over breakfast were any indication, they all heard.

“Sorry. Got some stuff to take of.” He didn’t really. It was just an empty excuse and he knew that Steve knew. He felt horrible every time he turned down an offer to spend time with Steve but it just didn’t make sense to him how Steve forgave him so easily when he couldn’t even forgive himself. He wished Steve would get angry, maybe hit him even, because pain would be easier to deal with than this sympathy but Steve never did.

“Oh, alright then,” Steve would reply, always with a hint of disappointment. “Guess I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.”

That was usually the end of it and Bucky would hole himself up in his room. Eventually, one day, Steve pushed it. When the frustration that Bucky was just not talking to him finally built to a breaking point, Steve confronted him in the halls. Bucky was just returning from wailing on the gym’s punching bag.

“Bucky, we need to talk,” Steve cornered him.

“Yeah?” Bucky glanced up as he ruffled the towel around his sweat-soaked neck. He could tell something was bothering him because Steve’s body language was tense.

Steve took a deep breath before he began. “You can’t keep doing this, Buck. I know things aren’t right with you but you haven’t talked to anyone about them, not even me. What happened? We used to be best friends. We talked to each other about everything. Now, I wake up in the middle of the night to my best friend’s screams and the next morning, he just walks around pretending nothing is wrong. I’m really worried about you. And…and I just want to help. Please.”

Bucky slowly settled the towel down against one shoulder. He supposed he should have been expecting this sooner or later with the way he was acting. “What do you want me to say?” he finally asked.

It was painful to watch Steve, desperation etched clear on his face, all but begging his best friend to open up to him. It wasn’t even his burden to bear but here he was, insisting Bucky let him share the load. All it did was make Bucky feel more like a pathetic wreck.

“I…anything.”

Bucky shook his head. “I can’t. Sorry Steve. I just…I can’t do this. Not right now.” He turned away.

“If not right now, then when?!” yelled Steve unexpectedly, his patience finally breaking. When Bucky didn’t reply, Steve swore. “Damn it, James!” His frustration echoed around the empty halls. “I just…” his voice softens and cracks almost inaudibly. “I just want my best friend back.”

He felt horrible but knew it was necessary. Steve could never understand. To share with him the memories of the atrocities he’d committed as the Winter Soldier would hurt Steve more than it’d help Bucky. It would tarnish the pureness that was Captain America. Steve needed to focus on his job and his duty to a country that needed him. Bucky was only one man.

One man who’d broken a sworn promise.

Bucky understood that Steve still saw him as the same man who gladly marched into war alongside Captain America and died a hero. How could Bucky ever tell him that the same man he cherished was gone?

“Sorry,” Bucky said again. It was heart-wrenching but he continued to walk, his back turned to Steve, even as he heard the distinct sound of Steve putting a fist through the drywall.

After that, Steve stopped trying to get him to talk. He still greeted Bucky in the halls but made it clear he wasn’t going to push anymore. Maybe he understood that Bucky needed his space but damned if he didn’t still give Bucky wounded eyes. He hated how he was pushing Steve away…but this was his problem to deal with. These were his demons.


	2. This Seems Familiar

Adapting to the superhero business was easier than he thought it would be. Guns blazing on the battlefield, it was exactly the same adrenaline rush he got every time he faced down enemies.  
  
He locked onto his targets. With skills that were second-nature, he shot both of them clean through their skulls before either could raise a gun to return fire. It didn’t matter now that the sides had changed and he was technically playing for the good guys. The game was still the same. It was eerie just how similar it was to Bucky’s past life as the Winter Soldier, the only current difference being that he wasn’t playing solo.  
  
His teammates were scattered in various areas around him. They were fighting a group of hired soldiers sent by a terrorist cell to capture or kill an undercover operative who’d escaped back to SHIELD and taken sensitive documents (and Bucky suspected, something more). They’d brought an unseemly amount of back up and were prepared to level the entire town to accomplish their mission. It all seemed a little like overkill for some missing files but Bucky wasn’t going to be the first to claim to understand the inner workings of an evil terrorist organization.   
  
Iron Man was flying high above, relaying enemy positions over the comms and directing the rest of the Avengers, while trying to limit the collateral damage. It seemed like a vain effort though, because the Hulk was currently smashing enemy units into nearby buildings and Thor had just called down lightning to topple a skyscraper onto an advancing squadron. It was a good thing that all of the civilians were already evacuated by this point.  
  
Hawkeye was stationed near the perimeters, picking off strays and generally trying to box in the fighting. To Bucky’s left, Black Widow and Captain America were teamed up and in close combat with about six of the enemy’s foot soldiers.  
  
This was the first assignment SHIELD sent him on and they clearly had no qualms about tossing him into the fray without so much as a few missions to ease into the role.  
  
Fury had briefed the team eight hours ago before they shipped out, ending the talk by flashing Bucky a distinct look that said ‘don’t fuck this one up.’ And Bucky wasn’t planning to. He knew they were judging him based on his performance on this mission. If he showed any untoward moves, they’d have no problem sticking him back in a jail cell.  
  
It was also the first opportunity to see how he worked in conjunction with the rest of the team. They hadn’t said much to him as everyone suited up in the quinjet, just discussed the general plan of attack before their transport arrived at the drop zone. Bucky got the feeling they were uneasy about putting him back in the middle of fighting, should it trigger a relapse into his Winter Soldier persona, even if they’d more or less relaxed around his presence at the tower. Clint and Tony even cracked jokes with him on occasion.  
  
None of that mattered because this was the make it or break it part. These people worked together as a whole. They placed their lives in each other’s hands and no matter how chummy Bucky may get with them in the down time, he couldn’t truly be one of them until he proved his worth on a mission together.  
  
So he fought with all of the abilities in his arsenal. He wasn’t about to disappoint any more people who were counting on him.  
  
Bucky fired off the last two shots in his handgun before dropping behind a flipped police car to reload.  
  
“Barnes, to your right. Seven incoming and heavily armed. Better watch out,” relayed Tony through the comms.  
  
“Roger that,” replied Bucky.  
  
With his enhanced senses, he could just make out the footfalls and shapes of the enemies through the thick bank of smoke wafting around the battlefield. They were headed straight in his direction. Bucky estimated that he had five, maybe six seconds before they spotted him. He could handle them head-on but something more tactical was preferable. SHIELD was watching and he didn’t want to give them the impression that he was one to take unnecessary risks, especially when his reliability was still in question. He thought fast about how he could possibly ambush seven enemy soldiers.  
  
He holstered his handgun and pulled out a remote detonation bomb. It was barely the size of his fist but Tony had designed it himself so Bucky trusted it would do the job. Quickly burying it in the ground behind the car, he hurriedly ran to take cover inside a blown-out diner ten meters away. Crouching down low, he peered out of one of the shattered windows. He unslung his rifle from across his back with his right hand and waited, the detonator grasped firmly in his left hand.  
  
When he saw the first soldier approach the police car, opposite the side Bucky had been hiding, he pressed the detonator. For such a small bomb, the blast was deafening. The force behind it sent the car flying at the soldiers. The wreckage and shrapnel took out five enemies instantly.  
  
Bucky dropped the used detonator and raised his rifle. Peering through the scope, he locked on to the two remaining, disoriented, men and took them both out with quick successive shots. They dropped like stones beside their fallen comrades. None of them had even been aware of his presence before he wiped them out. It was a perfectly executed plan.  
  
Tony seemed to realize it, too, because he whistled appreciatively in his earpiece. “Damn, Barnes. That was smooth.”  
  
Bucky allowed himself a small smirk before he quipped back. “Well, you tend to pick up a thing or two after seventy years of doing this kind of work.”  
  
He heard Tony bark a laugh in return.  
  
“Well it doesn’t seem like you two are very busy, so you wanna lend me a hand here?” Steve interjected. “Kinda ran into something unexpected. Some help wouldn’t go amiss.”  
  
“Whatever you say, Cap, buddy,” Tony responded. “Just hang tight, I’ll be there in—oh shit, Steve, get out of there, now!”  
  
Not good.  
  
Bucky whipped the scope around to where he’d last seen Steve. He located him by some rubble, separated from Natasha and surrounded by about five enemies.  
  
“I can’t!” said Steve.  
  
What the hell was Steve doing? Bucky was confused. Why wasn’t he immediately breaking away?  
  
Half a second later, he saw why. Cradled in Steve’s arms was a small child, maybe three or four years old, bloodied and crying. Damn it, so that’s what he’d meant about ‘something unexpected.’ Steve couldn’t fight to his fullest with a child clinging to him. SHIELD had undeniably fucked up when they were doing evac earlier. What was worse, Bucky could see the source of Tony’s alarm standing on top of a nearby building, getting ready to aim a rocket launcher right at Captain America. Bucky understood immediately that the ones crowded around Steve were meant to keep him from escaping. They were willing to sacrifice five of their own to take out Captain America.  
  
The situation wasn’t good and Steve was in deep trouble.  
  
Natasha was too far away and engaged with her own set of enemies. Even if she broke through now, she couldn’t take out the ones surrounding Steve and escape before the man on top of the building fired.  
  
Clint was still positioned at the edge of the city and Bucky had no idea where the Hulk or Thor was. He could see Tony whipping in as fast as he could but was still too far away to take an accurate shot.  
  
So all that left was Bucky.  
  
The man steadied the launcher. Bucky had maybe a second and a half before the he pulled the trigger. Damn it. He wasn’t even at a good vantage point to take out a target up high. But he still had to try.  
  
Quickly, drawing upon all his years of experience as an assassin and a sniper, Bucky fired his rifle. The angle was poor and any ordinary marksman would have shot way off mark. But Bucky wasn’t ordinary. He’d made enough difficult shots in his lifetime to know what he was doing.  
  
The bullet lodged itself in the left shoulder of his target a split second before the man launched the missile. It wasn’t a killing shot but it didn’t have to be. The man yelped in pain and surprise, the missile firing wide of its intended target. He didn’t have time to recover for a second try before Iron Man made it onto the scene and blasted the bastard off the roof.  Not wasting any time, he then shot down to street level, firing repulsor shots to scatter the soldiers surrounding Captain America.  
  
Once Steve had his breathing room back, Bucky saw him nod at Tony.  
  
“Thanks,” said Steve, as he soothed the frightened child in his arms.  
  
Iron Man shrugged. “Wasn’t me. Barnes saved you.”  
  
Steve paused. “Bucky…?”  
  
“Guy’s a regular crack shot.”  
  
Steve smiled. “That he is.” Speaking into earpiece he said, “thanks, Bucky.”  
  
Bucky grunted in reply. “You can thank me later.”

* * *

  
After that, the rest was relatively easy-going. They fought for a short while longer before the remaining forces decided it was smarter to just cut their losses and retreat. Bucky was left standing in the middle of a relatively deserted battlefield, an empty gun in one hand, a knife in the other, still coming off the battle high. It was probably partially the imitation serum’s doing. So far, he’d never found anything that gave him the same type of euphoria that fighting did. It was a silent reminder that part of him still enjoyed this, still wanted this.  
  
He took his time surveying the damage as his breathing steadied and his heartbeat slowed. Steve informed them that he’d radioed SHIELD and they would be here any minute with the clean-up crew and their transport.   
  
He imagined that his performance on this mission, doubtlessly recorded by SHIELD, would be more than enough to ease Fury and the Council’s wariness of him. He’d performed stunningly. Every attack and ambush was executed perfectly. Every bullet found its mark. He’d even pulled off that brilliantly coordinated save with Iron Man to get Captain America out of some deep shit. There would be no question about his ability to work as part of this team from this mission onwards.  
  
Wasn’t that a victory in itself? He should be happy. The chance Steve took in helping free him now meant that Bucky had a place in the world again. Wasn’t that worth celebrating?  
  
He scanned the wreckage of the city again, wanting to preserve this first turning-point mission in his mind as clearly as he could, when he caught sight of a group of dead HYDRA soldiers and it triggered a flood of memories from his Winter Soldier days. He froze as the images assaulted his mind, his previous elation instantly forgotten.  
  
He was standing on a similar battlefield, exhausted but victorious, smirking in satisfaction even as the soles of his boots were stained red from the blood of the corpses around him. His partner for that mission had fumbled and blown their cover, paying for the mistake with his life. The Winter Soldier had been annoyed, but it wasn’t a huge setback. Instead, he’d lured the men into a trap. The bomb exploded or maimed most of the soldiers, after which he finished off the survivors with either his gun or his knife. He hadn’t even given a second thought to mowing down the defenceless men; even as the ones who managed to speak before he’d shoved a knife into their throat begged him for their lives.  
  
In his mind, Bucky watched the Winter Soldier wipe his bloodied blade on the shirt of the last soldier. The blade was sheathed and the Soldier walked unperturbed through the mess of corpses.  
  
Their glassy-eyed looks hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. They weren’t people, his training told him, just targets. He wasn’t supposed to empathize with them. He wasn’t supposed to empathize at all.  
  
But now it was different—the same, yet so different. The programming was gone and he could feel again. He could feel the dead watching him, felt their permanently frozen gaze judging him.  
  
Of course he’d killed plenty of people in his lifetime, even back during the war. But that was another situation where he took no enjoyment out of the senseless violence, only did what had to be done. It was nothing like this mission, where the scent of gunpowder and smoke was so intoxicating he nearly hadn’t wanted the battle to end.  
  
It was all so wrong.  
  
It no longer felt like a perfect victory.  
  
The dead wouldn’t stop looking at him with those condemning eyes.  
  
Bucky clutched his head and swayed on his feet. The gun and the knife were dropped. The high was gone and—Oh God, he suddenly wanted to be sick.  
  
He couldn’t believe he’d stood there basking in his aftermath of his kills. And shit, he didn’t even have the brainwashing to blame this time when he started to enjoy the battle. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t any different than being the Winter Soldier and serving the Red Room. How could he ever have let Fury talk him into using his skills like this again?  
  
Nothing had changed. He was still a killer, just doing the exact same job under new pretences. He needed to stop this. He needed to get out of here. He needed to take his gun and put a bullet in his head before—  
  
“Stop,” said a familiar voice, gently.  
  
It was enough to rouse him from his spiralling thoughts. He hadn’t realized that he was clutching his head with both heads, or that he was trembling.  
  
“Stop,” the voice came again, softer, and Bucky turned to see Natasha standing beside him, her hand pressed lightly on his arm.  
  
“Natalia…I just…do you ever…have you ever asked yourself why you’re doing this? I thought this would be different, but it isn’t, is it?” The words came out without him meaning them to. Weeks of being unable to say a single thing about his feelings to Steve and a moment in Natasha’s presence had him confessing his entire inner turmoil, right here. He could say this to her because he knew she understood and with her, he didn’t feel like he was being judged. Because she was broken, just like him.  
  
“It is different,” she replied, and he looked at her questioningly. She turned and pinned him with her blue eyes which told Bucky she was reading him clear as day. “James. Never forget why we fight. The Red Room never gave us a reason. We were only tools to them and we followed orders and killed whoever they told us to. This is different. These people aren’t innocents, James.”  
  
“And that makes it okay?”  
  
“Maybe not. But a lot worse will happen if we don’t kill them. More than that, we have options now. We can choose to fight, and we can choose why we fight.”  
  
“And why do you fight?” he asked.  
  
“To protect those I care about,” she replied without hesitation, “and because I believe what I’m doing makes a difference. By protecting people and saving lives, I can atone for some of the wrongs I committed. Wipe away some of the red.”  
  
“So is that all this is? Redemption?”  
  
“For me it is.” She withdrew her hand from his arm. “You have to decide if that’s enough for you. It’s dangerous for people like us to not know what we’re fighting for.”

* * *

  
It was late in the evening when all of them were finally cleared to go home, after SHIELD decided they were properly debriefed. Bucky had been right. After confirming the success of the mission, Fury gave Bucky a stiff nod of approval and said that the Council had reviewed his performance and granted permission for Bucky to be taken off probationary status and placed on active Avengers duty.  
  
Clint clapped him on the back and whooped, “nice going.” Steve flashed him a supportive grin. Natasha’s expression was more unreadable but she didn’t look disapproving. Bruce offered him a polite “congratulations”. Thor loudly proposed that they have a toast in his honour once the team congregated back at the Tower, leading Tony to mutter something about a celebration, which in retrospect, Bucky should have paid more attention to as a warning.  
  
They disbanded as soon as they arrived at the Tower and the first thing Bucky did after he locked the door to his suite behind him was head for the shower, tossing his dirtied clothes haphazardly on the floor as he made a beeline for the bathroom.  
  
Once there, he turned the nozzle on hotter than he needed it to be and stood beneath the slightly scalding water. God, it felt so good on his tense muscles. This is what he needed right now, just time by himself to reflect on his conflicted feelings.  
  
“ _You have to decide if that’s enough for you._ ” Natasha’s words rang in his head.  
  
Was it enough? Bucky asked himself.  
  
As an Avengers, his duties were—in Fury’s own words—to protect those that can’t protect themselves. To fight the battles that they couldn’t. It was more complicated but it was better, because Natasha was right and he could choose whether or not to fight, to kill.  
  
“ _It’s dangerous for people like us to not know what we’re fighting for._ ” Those were her words.  
  
And he still needed a reason.  
  
Could he be like her? Fighting for some shred of redemption?  
  
A man had once told him that “suicide was the coward’s way out.” Even if Bucky killed himself as an act of justice, it wouldn’t right all the wrongs. One death didn’t balance out hundreds. No, he needed to make amends and he could only do that by living with the weight of this burden.  
  
Bucky blinked. The water was cooler now. He’d been standing there longer than he realized. Quickly, he washed his hair, detangling the knots from the battlefield dust and god-knows-what. It was too long, just brushing his shoulders. Bucky filed it somewhere in the back of his head that he should go get it cut some time soon. He scrubbed the rest of himself down and rinsed under the rapidly-cooling water.  
  
He was just towelling off when there came a loud pounding on his door, followed by a muffled shout that sounded like Tony.  
  
“Sergeant Barnes, it would seem that the entire Avengers team is currently gathered outside your door,” announced JARVIS, suddenly.  
  
“What’s the problem? We being called into the field again?” asked Bucky. Bucky was still not entirely comfortable with the AI butler. It felt weird addressing a disembodied voice coming from the speaker in his ceiling.  
  
“No, sir. It would appear that they are here to celebrate your newly-minted official status as an Avenger,” replied JARVIS.   
  
“The hell?!” exclaimed an incredulous Bucky. He rushed into his bedroom and quickly threw on a pair of clean pants, forgoing a shirt in his haste. All the while, someone—most likely Tony—was still pounding loudly on his door.  
  
Bucky exited the bedroom and strode towards the door. Somewhere behind it, Tony yelled, “open up, Barnes, we know you’re in there!” as the knocking grew more insistent.  
  
Bucky sighed, and unlocked the door. He blinked a few times at the bizarre scene that greeted him. The entire team was there, bearing pizzas and various takeout foods as well as a ridiculous amount of alcohol. They were smiling at him. Tony was even holding balloons. Where the fuck had he gotten balloons?  
  
“Can I help you?” Bucky said slowly.  
  
Tony raised an eyebrow as he eyed Bucky’s shirtless and damp form before shoving him out of the doorway and into the living room. He walked in like he was the one who lived here and the rest of the team trailed in after him. Once inside, Tony let go of the strings in his hand and the balloons rose up to bob along Bucky’s ceiling.  
  
Bucky just stared at them, and then at the gathered Avengers in his living room, wondering what the hell they were doing. His living room was small and nothing like the large common room eight floors down so it was kind of a tight fit. Thor alone seemed to take up a quarter of the space.  
  
“So, what are you all doing here?” asked Bucky.  
  
Tony was currently sprawled casually over the sofa loveseat. He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to explain, but Thor beat him to it.  
  
“My friend, we are here to celebrate your investiture as one of our team,” Thor announced proudly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“I’ve been part of the Avengers for weeks,” Bucky informed Thor like the latter was an idiot.  
  
“Yeah,” Clint butted in, “but that was trial stuff. It’s official now.”  
  
“We did not throw you a proper celebration when you first arrived, you’ll have to forgive us. The circumstances at the time did not permit us to trust you so easily, but you have proved your valour and allegiance in battle today, such that Fury has deemed you worthy of our cause. We thought it appropriate to honour your efforts with food, drink, and merriment,” Thor added.  
  
“So, a party.”  
  
“That’s what it looks like,” Bruce chipped in. He smiled supportively.  
  
“How’d you even get all this stuff? We just got back.”  
  
Steve answered. “Not sure what you’ve been doing, but we’ve been back for more than an hour, Buck. Tony got the idea and had JARVIS make the preparations and call in the food on the quinjet.”  
  
“Yeah, and I was gearing up to surprise you and everything in the lobby but you snuck off too soon.” Tony shrugged. “So the rest of us just cleaned up, waited for the food to get here, and twiddled our thumbs. Steve was going to call you down but I said ‘screw that, let’s bring the party to you’ and so here we are.” He gave a general sweep around the room.  
  
Bucky didn’t know what to say.  
  
Thor frowned at Bucky’s silence. “Are you not pleased? Perhaps Tony should have consulted you about the food?”  
  
“No, no,” Bucky all but stammered. He looked at Steve for some assistance.  
  
Steve grinned at him in a way that said ‘just go with it.’ “You deserve it. Consider it thanks for saving my butt out in the field today.”  
  
“It wasn’t really—“ Bucky started.  
  
Tony cut him off. “Stop selling yourself short, soldier, you’re a regular hero now, just like us. You know what,” he said to the rest of the room, “I got it. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate Barnes kicking ass. JARVIS, pull up footage of Barnes saving Cap’s ass from today’s battle.”  
  
“Sir, I’m afraid I was not instructed to record the events that transpired today,” replied JARVIS.  
  
“Then hack Nick Fury’s computer and get it.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Nobody seemed even mildly concerned that Tony’s AI was breaking into the nation’s top secret intelligence agency. Half a minute later, Bucky’s disused 60” TV (Tony insisted one be installed in everyone’s living quarters) flared to life.  
  
They all gathered close, somehow managing to squeeze onto and around the single couch in his living room (Tony still had possession of the loveseat), even if it left Clint perched on the armrest, Natasha practically in Steve’s lap, and Thor leaning on top of the couch, leaving Bucky squeezed in-between Steve-Natasha and Bruce.  
  
The TV played an aerial recording of Bucky making the impossible shot that bought just enough time for Iron Man to zip in and take out the enemy (Tony made a comment about how they’d be hopelessly lost without him). Clint muttered an appreciative “shit, Barnes” when he saw the bullet hit home and Bucky proudly took the compliment.  
  
When JARVIS ended the playback, they clapped Bucky on the back, exclaiming about his split-second decision and unbelievable aim, joking that maybe it was time Hawkeye took some lessons from him. Clint pretended to take offence at that but couldn’t quite manage to keep the good humour out of his voice.  
  
Laughing, they told JARVIS to replay the entire battle from the beginning. They chuckled at the sight of Iron Man flying into a low-hanging billboard sign while dodging fire. They giggled like children at seeing the normally dignified Black Widow take a rather ungraceful fall.  
  
All the while, they passed food and drink amongst themselves as if watching a movie, which this sort of counted as. They made jokes when their on-screen selves messed up in a particularly humorous way because in many ways, this was team bonding. When you faced life or death on a daily basis, it no longer had the same effect on you. So they re-watched the entire battle and laughed off their close calls and minor scrapes.  
  
Even when the video ended and it was late into the night, nobody left. It might have been one drink too many, but Bucky swore that it felt just like 1943 again and he was sitting around a campfire with the Howling Commandos, trading jokes and good-natured insults. He looked over at Steve, with his head on Natasha’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded with sleep but still laughing at their jokes. He saw a fondness in Steve’s expression that told him that maybe, Steve feels that way too.  
  
Bucky smiled and it had nothing to do with the funny story Tony was recounting.  
  
And maybe, this also felt like belonging.  



	3. Nowhere Left to Fall

_The sound of a gunshot. A little girl screamed. A woman slumped against the piano, her blood and brains splattered over the ivory keys. The little girl’s father yelled “no, don’t do this!” just before the metal arm backhanded him hard across the face. There was a sharp cracking sound. He fell and didn’t get up again._  
  
 _The girl was crying now, backed up against the fireplace mantle with nowhere to run. Her small frame shook with sobs and she tightened her hands around the stuffed animal in her arms._  
  
 _The killer with the cold blue eyes flicked blood off his mechanical hand methodically and sidestepped the broken form of her father. He walked towards her, every movement precise like a predator._  
  
 _She couldn’t escape. He closed in on her until she had to tilt her head back to see his face. The tears were running in streaks down her face but he was so calm._  
  
 _He studied her momentarily, and then raised the gun in his right hand. The sight of it froze her and she looked with mounting horror as he slid a single bullet into the chamber. He placed the end of the cool muzzle against her forehead, his intentions clear. She knew she was doomed._  
  
 _“Your father’s been a bad man, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay.” The tone of his voice was devoid of any emotion. She was too scared to reply and could only watch, helpless. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make this quick.”_  
  
 _He pulled the trigger._   
  
Bucky woke with a gasp, cold sweat clinging to his face and body. Where was he? Why was everything dark? His heart was beating like a jackhammer in his chest and he was on the verge of a breakdown. The girl…what had he done?   
  
He lurched up off the floor (why was he on the floor?) and stumbled around, trying to find his bearing when he nearly tripped over something hard that felt like a body. His right hand flew out for leverage but the surface he grasped was coated in something wet and sticky. _Blood_? His frantic mind thought.   
  
The body Bucky tripped over groaned and sat up. In the darkened room, lit only by the light of the moon streaming through the balcony window, he saw the figure had light hair and was looking at him with sleepy but concerned eyes.  
  
“Bucky…?” came the tired voice.  
  
The voice brought him back. Oh. The events of the night were returning to him. He remembered the surprise party and the drinking and the laughing and how everyone eventually decided to crash in his living room rather than go back to their own suites. There were no pools of blood on the floor or corpses, just passed out Avengers and spilt liquor. Slowly, his heart rate began to steady.    
  
“Bucky?” came the same voice again, this time, it wasn’t so heavy with sleep.   
  
He shook his head but didn’t reply. His brain still felt foggy from the remnants of the nightmare and disturbing realization. Oh, God, he had done that. It had been a _child_ that time.   
  
He staggered away from Steve’s concerned face and made for the bathroom with the sudden urge to vomit (nearly running into the living room table in his haste). Once inside, he kicked the door closed before dropping to his knees to hug the toilet seat, staying that way even after he’d retched up the entire contents of his stomach. He was still shuddering and gasping when the door gently opened behind him.  
  
Cool hands brushed aside the strands of hair in his face. He opened his eyes and there was Steve, kneeling beside him, holding out a glass of water. He took it gratefully and rinsed the vomit out of his mouth.   
  
“Thanks,” he wheezed.  
  
Steve nodded. He was stroking Bucky’s back comfortingly and it was such a familiar action from back before the war. Bucky had done the same for Steve every time the latter had come down with the stomach flu.  Now the roles were reversed.   
  
Bucky sighed under Steve’s touch. The hand was so warm and he’s missed this, but he can’t stay like this, so he willed himself to stand up, wobbling only slightly. Steve’s hand fell away. Twisting the sink tap open, he splashed his face with cold water, both in an effort to clean off the sweat and to shake the last dredges of the awful nightmare. The entire time, Steve stood oddly silent behind him, just watching.   
  
It was as Bucky was wiping his face dry that he could stand Steve’s stare no longer. “What is it?” he asked. He half-winced when he realized it came out more biting than he’d intended.   
  
Steve looked startled for a moment. “What’s what?” he parroted.  
  
“You. You’re just staring at me.”  
  
“Oh,” said Steve dumbly. He cleared his throat. “So you gonna tell me what this was about?” he asked.  
  
Bucky shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell.”  
  
“Bucky…”  
  
“Look, I had a nightmare, alright? I dreamt I was the Winter Soldier again and shit happened. Then I woke up. End of story.”  
  
Steve crossed his arms and a frustrated look flitted across his face. “I know there’s more to it than that.”  
  
He just shrugged again, so Steve changed tactics.  
  
“How often is this happening?”  
  
“Few times a week.”  
  
“How many is a ‘few times’?” pressed Steve.   
  
“God, Steve, what’s your problem?” he responded angrily.   
  
“Answer the question, James.”  
  
Bucky shifted irritably. “Three…maybe four times a week.”  
  
Steve covered his eyes with a hand and muttered a curse under his breath. “That’s it. We’re doing something about this.” He took hold of Bucky’s wrist, meaning to drag him, but Bucky was having none of it. The sudden gesture felt so patronizing that Bucky’s temper flared.   
  
He jerked his hand free of Steve’s grip. “Fuck off, this isn’t your problem!” His throat constricted and he felt as though he’d swallowed acid. “I know you think I can’t handle it but that doesn’t mean I need you to babysit me and it definitely doesn’t mean I need you to stand there and feel sorry for me. So why don’t you get it?! I’m so sick of your pitying looks and desperate attempts to ‘help’!”    
  
He was definitely going to regret this later. It wasn’t just that the night’s events had put him on edge, no, this was pent up frustration that’s been building for weeks. Most of it had nothing to do with Steve. It was a combination of all his anger and resentment, both at himself and his situation that’s suddenly come to a head. He knew he needed to stop, but now that he’d started, Bucky found that he couldn’t.   
  
So instead he laughed derisively. “So what, I’m such a sorry fucking mess that I need you there to glance supportively at me whenever something happens or hold my fucking hand through every bad experience? Well guess what, I’m not some poor victim you need to save, Steve, so you need to get it in your head to stop trying to play the hero ‘cause it’s really getting old! You can’t fix me! No amount of ‘talking’ is going to make this okay. You want your best friend back, well that’s too bad, pal, he’s _gone_ and all you’ve got left is me!”   
  
It finally stopped.  
  
Bucky was breathing heavily and now that his brain was catching up to his mouth, he really wanted to take back everything he’d just said because the look on Steve’s face was simply devastating.   
  
There was such hurt and guilt in his eyes that Bucky’s heart clenched with regret. He shouldn’t have said those things. Steve was only looking out for him and he didn’t know. Bucky opened his mouth to try an apology but now words decided to fail him.  
  
“Is that how you really feel?” the reply was unexpectedly soft.   
  
Bucky desperately wanted to say something, say he hadn’t meant it and that it wasn’t Steve’s fault. But at that moment, Clint flung open the washroom door and both Steve and Bucky whipped around at his sudden appearance.  
  
“What the hell’s going on? It’s four in the morning, what are you two—” he broke off. Something about Steve and Bucky’s faces must have tipped him off that something was wrong. Clint stared from one to the other. “Guys?”   
  
There was an awkward pause. Steve gave Bucky one last look before he turned and pushed past Clint. “It’s nothing. Goodnight,” was his clipped response. They watched his form retreat out the door and distantly heard the front door open, then slam shut.   
  
A moment later, Bucky found himself staring at the remaining Avengers, gathered outside his bathroom door. They were all looking at him with varying degrees of worry.   
  
“We heard the commotion,” Bruce explained. “You were yelling really loudly.”  
  
“Something happened,” said Tony, more a statement than a question. “Why’d Capsicle just storm off like that?”  
  
“James, is everything alright? James?”  
  
No, everything wasn’t alright. He was such an idiot.

* * *

  
  
He didn’t see Steve much after that.   
  
Who could blame him, really? Bucky had damn well made it clear he was sick of Steve interfering in his life, even if it wasn’t true.   
  
Great. So much for things improving.  
  
They still saw each other occasionally. The Tower was only so big. But each time, Steve would walk past him quickly, leaving Bucky to glance guiltily at his back as Steve all but ran from Bucky’s presence. There were no more greetings.   
  
He desperately wanted to say how sorry he was but Steve never gave him the chance. He was never in one place long enough for Bucky to get a single sentence out, and that’s if his throat didn’t clench up first.   
  
The other Avengers noticed their rift. Bucky never told any of them the details of that night when he snapped and he didn’t think Steve had either. Regardless, that didn’t stop them from worrying and trying to help the situation in one way or another. Some of them had more tact about it than others, though.   
  
“God, will you two just make up already? I’m tired of looking at your mopey face,” was what Tony inexplicably said to him one day. Bucky gave him a punch on the arm for that ‘helpful’ advice.   
  
“I do not know what has come between you and the good Captain, and it is none of my business, but it has been my experience that there are no matters of friendship that cannot be mended over a hearty drink,” provided Thor helpfully when they were both in the main kitchen two days later and he saw Bucky angrily stabbing at his food. Bucky didn’t think that would work (their friendship had never been based on alcohol, for one), especially since he couldn’t even pin Steve down these days, but he just nodded to show that he appreciated his new team mate’s well-meaning intentions.   
  
In the end, none of their good intentions were doing much to help mend his situation. His own efforts were coming up fruitless as well. Steve had clearly taken Bucky’s words about leaving him alone to heart. So, Bucky gave up and doubled his time in the shooting range. It helped, somewhat, to bleed out his frustration into each bullet.   
  
But, as the case remained, life was never that simple for James Barnes.   
  
Ever since that night, his nightmares became more vivid than ever until he could still smell the copper tinge of blood when he woke thrashing in the middle of the night. It also spiked in frequency. Five nights out of seven he could expect to relive the horror that was the Winter Soldier each time he fell asleep. He never got any decent sleep those nights so in the end, against any sensible reason, he decided to put off sleep as much as possible.   
  
JARVIS had offered to procure some sleeping pills for him but Bucky was adamantly against it after all the time he spent drugged up in SHIELD custody. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyways since his body burned through most things faster than the average person.   
  
So he began staying up all night.   
  
He drank gallons of coffee each day (ignoring the looks it got him) and blared meaningless TV at night to keep awake. When he had to, he’d sleep fitfully for a couple of hours but woke before the nightmares could take hold of him. It was a terrible arrangement and he found himself constantly exhausted (despite the coffee) after a week but it was still better than the alternative.   
  
Plus, it meant he wouldn’t bother the others with his screams at night so Bucky considered it a good price to pay.  
  
There were still side effects though.  
  
The dark circles under his eyes got heavier. He lost some of his usual grace and alertness, such that he didn’t even notice Clint drop down on the other end of the couch one day in the common room until he reached over to pluck the remote out of Bucky’s hand.   
  
_It was no big deal_ , he told himself. He’d worked plenty of missions on minimal sleep back when he was the Winter Soldier. He’ll still be fine out on the field.  
  
While Bucky was determined to ignore the toll that lack of sleep was taking on his physical performance, some of his teammates were not so obliging.   
  
Bruce quietly asked him one day after a meeting with Nick Fury and SHIELD if maybe Bucky was having trouble sleeping. “You aren’t looking so good these days” were the doctor’s own words.  
  
“I’m fine,” Bucky had snapped. Really, he wasn’t about to get into a discussion about why he was refusing to sleep. That would mean discussing his nightmares and Bucky wasn’t ready for that.   
  
But Bruce, perhaps more perceptive than Bucky initially gave him credit for, then gently suggested that maybe Bucky would benefit from an appointment with one of the SHIELD-employed therapists, but Bucky only scoffed. There was no way he was letting anyone near his head any time soon.  
  
So Bucky carried on like that for three weeks, brushing off any concerns his teammates had.  
  
He didn’t consider the consequences until he was called into the field one day.   
  
  
  



	4. Mistakes Happen to the Best of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than anticipated because I've been so bogged down with school and so has my beta. I'm hoping to get this story wrapped up in the next chapter or two. Also, I saw Captain America: The Winter Soldier and can I just say that I have so many Bucky feels right now that I'm literally drowning in them.

It wasn’t supposed to be a complicated mission. He, Natasha and Clint were called in for this one because they were the infiltration experts. It was simple enough. They were targeting the head of an organized crime ring that was running a black market specializing in an assortment of illicit—and highly dangerous—goods. SHIELD received intel that they were peddling a new super virus and that a bidder had been found. There was good evidence that it might be used to engage the US in an act of biological terrorism. Their orders were to kill the bidder and retrieve the virus before the deal can be completed.  
  
The exchange was being conducted in a gray warehouse by the docks, a temporary base of sorts. Natasha was given the job of retrieving the virus while Bucky, being the sniper, was to take out the buyer when Natasha confirmed she had the item in question, thus eliminating a would-be terrorist. Clint was to keep their exit route clear.  
  
They weren’t supposed to actually engage in combat unless absolutely necessary. While the outside of the building was mostly clear, with only about a dozen patrols, the inside was teeming with armed guards that made it clear that this was no ordinary smuggling operation. Still, a few dozen hired grunts were not exceedingly difficult to handle. The real reason they couldn’t go in guns blazing was because SHIELD was still tracking the dealings of this particular crime syndicate in the hopes of revealing their financial backer (which evidence suggests is someone with ties to the US government). It was easier to make it look like a hired hit by a rival bidder than to send in the entire Avengers team to wipe them all out and in doing so, lose the trail they’d been tracking. The situation was delicate.  
  
Bucky shifted slightly where he was positioned above the rafters, overlooking the main room of the warehouse. He was at a good vantage point and the positioning of the beams gave him ample cover. He thought maybe he should have picked some place closer, though, since he was having some trouble keeping track of the many guards. They seemed to blur into each other from one minute to the next. He blamed it on the dust in the air.   
  
“Natasha,” he whispered softly into his earpiece, “what’s your status?”  
  
“I’m in the storeroom,” she whispered back. “I had to knock out two guys on the way in but I hid the bodies. According to intel the sample is loaded in one of the boxes here.”  
  
“Alright. Hurry up though, the guards are moving. I think our target’s arrived.”  
  
“Copy that.”  
  
Bucky waited and sure enough, the side door opened and in walked a shady-looking man, fat and balding, dressed in a dusty suit, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He was flanked by an entourage of stony-faced men wielding semi-automatics.  
  
As the fat man stepped into the middle of the room, a tall figure strode out of the shadows to meet him, this one dressed in a dark blue suit. The guards present shuffled closer towards him. He nodded at the fat man by way of acknowledgement. “Mr. Crawford. You bring so many armed thugs to our meeting. Your distrust wounds me.”  
  
The fat man grunted. He tossed the cigarette he was smoking onto the floor and ground it out with a polished boot. “It’s a precaution. In case you decided to waltz off with two million. ‘Sides, I see the ‘guards’ you’re keeping here and they don’t look too friendly.”  
  
The dark-dressed man smiled. Bucky assumed he must be one of the top-tier members. “Also a precaution. Our deal is, ah, one of a highly sensitive nature. Some extra protection is necessary.”  
  
“Enough chitchat. I’ve brought the cash,” the fat man held up a suitcase, “now where’s my item?”  
  
“If you will please show me the money first.”  
  
The fat man opened up the suitcase. It was stuffed to the brim with bundles of hundred dollar bills.  
  
The taller man nodded. “Very well, I will fetch it. Wait here.” He exited the room, taking two guards with him and leaving the rest.  
  
“Natasha,” Bucky whispered, “are you done? He’s headed your way.”  
  
There was the sound of a case snapping closed. “I’ve got the sample. I’ve replaced it with the one SHIELD gave us. I’m exiting through the back door. Hawkeye, is the coast clear?”  
  
“All clear. Take a left once you hit the stairs and you shouldn’t run into anyone,” Clint replied.  
  
“Copy. James, you can proceed. Rendezvous with us when you’re done.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
He trained his gaze back on the fat man, who was pacing agitatedly. His group of guards were standing stoically around him in a half circle, guns still very much at the ready. Mentally, he reviewed the details of the plan. Shoot the fat man, toss a smoke grenade, and then escape out one of the side windows in the ensuing chaos. Simple.  
  
Bucky slowly raised his rifle, careful not to make a sound. The weapon was already loaded. He peered through the scope to fix on his target but suddenly, found that he couldn’t keep his aim steady. His right arm trembled under the weight of the rifle. Confused and irritated, Bucky relaxed his grip and tried again. His arm was still unsteady.  
  
Shit, his hands never shook. He was a sniper.  
  
Regardless, he looked through the scope, taking deep breaths in the hopes of calming the worst of the trembling. He tried to pinpoint the fat man through the scope but found to his rising horror that he couldn’t focus on the image of his target through the scope, either. He’d assumed it was just the dust in the air but the more he strained, the more his vision blurred in and out of focus. What the hell was happening? Quickly, Bucky blinked a few times to clear his eyes but it wasn’t much better.  
  
Panic began to set in when he realized what it was. Decreased alertness, cognitive functioning and performance. His sleepless nights were catching up to him. Here, in the middle of a goddamn mission, of all places.  
  
Cursing silently, he took a deep breath and willed his arm to stop shaking. He didn’t have any other option. This was up to him and he had to do it right. Training the barrel on the fat man’s head, he pulled the trigger.  
  
The bullet missed.  
  
It whizzed just past the man’s left ear and embedded itself in the arm of one of the guards who cried out in pain. Immediately, several dozen sets of eyes glared up at him and he found himself staring down at the business end of just as many guns. All hell broke loose.  
  
One of the guards pulled the fat man away behind some cargo while the rest opened fire at him. Someone was shouting orders into a radio. “Armed intruder. Backup required.”  
  
He could hear footsteps coming from the adjacent rooms. It would be difficult to run now, not that Bucky even had that option. Not when he hadn’t accomplished his mission objective.  
  
Cursing loudly, Bucky slung the rifle over his back and dropped down onto some cargo below the rafters before ducking swiftly behind steel crates to avoid the unrelenting fire.  
  
 _Fuck_ , he swore silently, resisting the urge to bang his head against the crate. He never missed. Now the mission was compromised.  
  
“Barnes!” Clint’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “What happened? The entire perimeter patrol is rushing in!”  
  
“I missed,” Bucky replied through gritted teeth.  
  
“You missed?! What the hell do you mean ‘you missed’?!”  
  
“I couldn’t hit the target.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Barnes,” spat Clint. “Get the hell out of there quickly; your cover’s been blown.”  
  
“Not yet, I have to take out the target,” argued Bucky.  
  
“Then hurry up! I don’t know what you think you’re doing but you need to get your head out of your ass and focus! If you’re not done in ten, Widow and I are coming in.”  
  
“Roger,” he replied. No doubt, he was going to get chewed out for this later.  
  
With his back against the crates, Bucky did a quick assessment of his inventory. He hadn’t anticipated a firefight and had only minimal ammo. Cursing at his own slip-up, he withdrew his M1911. When he heard a lull in the shooting, he fired off four shots over the top of the crate. Only three of them found a mark and only one enemy went down. Bullets assaulted his cover and Bucky was forced to duck down again.  
  
He’d messed up. It was naïve of him to think escaping his nightmares by forgoing sleep wouldn’t have consequences. He’d just been glad that he no longer had to endure the awful dreams and hadn’t thought about anything else. Even with the adrenaline pumping through him right now, his hands were still shaking. Couple that with the pounding in his head, and no amount of focus could correct his aim.  
  
Someone was shouting over the gunfire. “Sir, you’ve got to go!”  
  
“I know that! You hurry up and kill that bastard; he was trying to shoot me!”  
  
“Yes, sir!”  
  
Shit. His target was escaping. He was running out of time. Desperately, he emptied the rest of his magazine into the four men closing in on him. They fell. Without pause, he threw a smoke grenade into the fray. He caught sight of his target ducking out of one of the doors an instant before the grenade exploded, blanketing the entire room with heavy smoke. Rushing out from his hiding place, he chased after the escaping man, who was surprisingly agile for his size. Or maybe Bucky was slipping.  
  
In the confusion of the smoke, he ran into several of the armed men but Bucky took the liberty of punching them hard with his metal arm before any of them could fumble for their gun and shoot him.  
  
Reaching the door in one piece, he kicking it closed behind him to buy some extra time. A cursory sweep of the hall told him that his target had fled right so Bucky took the time to reload his hand gun before giving chase.  
  
“James, it’s been ten minutes. We’re heading in. Give us your location,” Natasha said through his earpiece.  
  
Bucky growled. “I got this.”  
  
“We’re _coming_ ,” Clint reiterated, in a voice that invited no argument.  
  
“Fine, suit yourself. I’m outside the meeting room, right hall, pursuing the target.”  
  
“Understood. We’ll back you up.”  
  
It didn’t matter. He was determined to finish this before either of them had to come in and save the day.  
  
Bucky knew he was drawing close because as he raced towards the end of the hallway, he could hear the fat man’s heavy breathing and loud footsteps. Eager to finally redeem himself, Bucky tore past the corner instead of peering around it carefully like his training had taught him, and instantly felt the sharp bloom of pain in his lower abdomen. Unable to stop and shocked by the sudden pain, his momentum sent him crashing against the side wall.  
  
It was just one mistake after another today.   
  
Always check behind bends, never rush on ahead. This was exactly what got rookies killed in the field and Bucky was no rookie. He should have been above such a slip up. He should have anticipated that the target would have a gun on him, that when he realized he couldn’t outrun Bucky he’d try to ambush him.  
  
Bucky barely managed to swing his metal arm up in time to block the man’s next two shots. The bullets ricocheted into the walls. He felt tremors shoot through his arm. The bullets felt unusually heavy. Had to be armor piercing rounds. No wonder his tactical vest hadn’t been any use. Still, Bucky was adamant he was not going to go out this way, dying embarrassingly at the hands of some fat sleazeball with terrorist-aspirations.  
  
He forced himself to shift his body so that he could return fire, all while his wound flared in protest. His aim was still unreliable but by some stroke of luck, it struck his target anyway, albeit in the upper arm. The man shrieked and dropped the gun, turning to flee. Just as Bucky was readying another shot, an arrow zipped out from the shadows at the end of the hall and buried itself in the man’s head. He slumped against the floor, dead on impact.  
  
“You know, for an ex-Russian assassin, I thought you could take care of one fatass in an ugly suit,” said Clint, as he smoothly detached himself from the shadows. Natasha followed close behind. “But it looks like I was wrong. Not only that, you managed to get yourself shot, too? What kind of highly trained assassin are you?”  
  
Bucky grimaced. “Off day.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see that. Especially if you’re fumbling so badly that you’re _missing_.”  
  
Bucky sighed. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He struggled to his feet, just a little bit unsteady. The wound in his side hurt like hell. Super soldier or not, he’s going to need to visit medical. “Where’s the virus?” he asked as he clamped a hand down to staunch the bleeding.  
  
“I have it,” Natasha said, patting her pocket. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. At least one of the main objectives had been accomplished without a hitch. If he was lucky, that might cut down Fury’s rant by half an hour. “Come on, we have to go,” Natasha interrupted his thoughts. She moved forward to give him a hand, ignoring his protests that he was perfectly capable of walking.  
  
They made it two steps before the sound of yells and heavy footfalls echoed from around the corner bend.  
  
“Find him! He couldn’t have escaped!”  
  
“Shit,” muttered Bucky. “Incoming.”  
  
“I noticed,” replied Clint drily. He turned to Natasha. “Nat, take Barnes and get out. I’ll cover us.”  
  
“Roger,” she said. “Come on, James.” She gave him a tug in the direction she and Clint had come from.  
  
For the most part, Bucky did his best to ignore the burning in his side. He kept up with Natasha as Clint let off a series of explosive arrows to distract their pursuers.  
  
Two hallways later, the voices were more distant and they’d come to a low hanging window. It was wide enough for them to fit. Evidently this was where she and Clint had snuck in.  
  
“I’ll go first,” said Natasha. She gracefully slid through and dropped down on the other side soundlessly. Half a second later, “it’s clear,” she confirmed.  
  
Bucky climbed over next, a little awkwardly. He at least managed to muffle his landing as he dropped down beside Natasha. Once she saw him, she whispered into her earpiece, “Hawkeye, we’re good to go.”  
  
They waited half a minute until they saw Clint drop like a shadow between them. He took one sweeping glance at Bucky before he snorted. “You always this careless or is today just special?”  
  
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”  
  
“You’ve been dripping a nice little trail for anyone with eyes to follow.”  
  
They all looked down at his wound. The blood was pooling despite the hand clenched around it. There was a small puddle building at his feet.  
  
“Damn it,” Bucky groaned. What else was going to go wrong today? If he was honest, Bucky was more irked by the fact that he’d slipped up and gotten injured than by any pain this injury was actually causing.  
  
Natasha frowned. “He got you pretty good. Why didn’t you say something?”  
  
Bucky half-shrugged. “I’ve walked away from worse. You know that.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Clint cut in. “Get that wrapped up until you can visit medical or else we’re going to have a trail of pissed off mobsters dogging our tails. Hurry, though. I left them with another smoke screen. Dunno how long it’ll keep ‘em busy and I’m all out of those.”  
  
Always the prepared one, Natasha dug through her utility belt until she came up with a small roll of gauze. She made Bucky rip off the sleeve of his shirt to use to staunch the flow before she hastily wrapped gauze around it. She secured it in a tight knot and nodded when she saw he was no longer dripping. “Let’s go.”  
  
They crept along quickly, keeping in the shadows. Clint led the way, Natasha followed in the middle and Bucky brought up the rear. They couldn’t move as fast as they would have liked; that would have attracted attention and while most of the guards had entered the main warehouse to pursue them, there were still enough patrols wandering around for the three of them to keep their guard up. However, the men from inside the building were no-doubt still pursuing them so they had to compromise on stealth somewhat, as a trade-off for a quickened pace.  
  
They were nearing a wide area, where the pier ended and the road began. To their right were a couple of smaller storage sheds. In general, there were fewer boxes and crates to hide behind and the area was more exposed than Bucky was comfortable with. A single streetlight lit the opposite end, at the start of the road.  
  
He was so busy contemplating their less than ideal location that Bucky nearly walked right into Natasha. Clint had come to a standstill, holding up a hand halt their advance. All three of them peered carefully over the stack of crates they were pressed against. Two men, both armed, stood just ten meters ahead. They looked far too purposeful to be casual patrols.  
  
“Think they know we’re here?” whispered Bucky.  
  
“They’re probably expecting us,” replied Natasha. “Word most likely got around fast after your cover was blown. Looks like they’re blocking all the exit routes.”  
  
“How far to the getaway car?” he asked.  
  
“Five blocks past those guys,” said Clint. “They’ve picked their position well. It’ll take too long to sneak past them and we don’t have that much time.”  
  
“We have to take them out, then,” stated Natasha. “Clint?”  
  
“Leave it to me.”  
  
Silently, Clint unslung his bow and cocked a single arrow. He let it fly, and it zipped soundlessly into the throat of the closest guard. The man let out a strangled gasp. A second arrow took out the other guard before the first had fallen to the ground.  
  
“Let’s move,” declared Clint, satisfied that both were dead.  
  
“What about the bodies?” asked Bucky.  
  
“Throw them to the side and hope nobody sees them before we get out of here. We haven’t got the time to hide them.”  
  
Nodding, the three of them slipped out from behind the crate. Natasha took hold of the guard furthest away. She dragged his body to the side of a shed and dumped him unceremoniously in a dark corner, obscured by the shadows of boxes and miscellaneous junk. Bucky lent a hand to Clint with the remaining body, more to make himself feel useful than actually quickening their endeavour by any meaningful amount of time.  
  
Just as they were preparing to dump the body, a third guard suddenly rounded the corner of a building farther down. He looked shocked for about quarter of a second before he was fumbling for his radio.  
  
“I’ve found them! They’re by the—”he yelled into the radio before Natasha cut him off with two quick shots from her gun. Even with the silencer, the two shots still echoed far too loudly. A few seconds later, there came distance shouts.  
  
Clint groaned. “So much for stealth.  Run for it!”

* * *

  
They raced down the empty road. It hadn’t been a problem to keep up with Natasha earlier when they were breaking away from their pursuers, but this was different. Bucky’s breaths were coming raggedly now and the exertion was causing more blood to pump out of his wound, already soaking through the temporary dressing Natasha had applied. If he were in his normal condition, this would have still been okay. He’d pull through. His pace wouldn’t be slipping like this.  
  
But he wasn’t. Bucky was exhausted and sleep-deprived. His senses were in disarray from the pain and the blood loss. But they still had three blocks to go and their pursuers were getting closer.  
  
Natasha, who was in front, turned around and caught sight of Bucky lagging behind. She stopped and signalled for Clint to do the same.  
  
“What are you doing, Nat?” Clint protested.  
  
“We have to fight. James isn’t going to make it.”  
  
Clint cursed colourfully. “What about the mission?”  
  
“We’ve already got the virus,” she replied.  
  
“And the overall objective? If we take them out, they’d panic and abandon the whole operation. They’ll pack up and disappear and that’s going to destroy a year’s worth of reconnaissance and leads.” Clint argued.  
  
“Well, we can’t just leave him. And we’ll never make it to the car before they get within shooting range.”  
  
The footsteps were getting closer and Clint swore.  
  
“You two, just go on without me,” interrupted Bucky, panting.   
  
“The hell we are,” retorted Clint. “You can quit with the false heroics, Barnes.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“We have to stick together.” Clint turned to Natasha. “How much ammo do you have left?”  
  
“Two magazines for each of the handguns and then the Widow’s Bite.”  
  
“Barnes?” he turned to Bucky.  
  
“Five rounds for the rifle and three magazines for the semi-automatic.”  
  
Clint did a quick survey of the bare street and grimaced. They were wide open with nowhere to hide. The few buildings around them would take too long to break into. “I don’t have much more than either of you and I don’t particularly fancy a firefight with minimal cover.”  
  
“You think it might turn problematic?” Natasha asked.  
  
“Dunno. I’d rather not chance it, especially when…” he shot Bucky a sidelong glance.  
  
Great. Now he was dead weight. Clint didn’t even trust him to hold his own in a shootout. Bucky looked away shamefully from both of them.  
  
“I have an idea,” Clint continued. “Think you two hold your own for about five to eight minutes?”  
  
Natasha nodded. “Shouldn’t be an issue. Are you going to get the car?”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll swing back for you guys. Just hold out ‘til then.”  
  
“And if they tail us?” Bucky asked sceptically.  
  
Clint grinned. “Please, Barnes. I’ve navigated my way through more than my fair share of car chases in this line of work.”  
  
There were shouts behind them. All three of them spun to see dark shapes advancing towards them rapidly.  
  
“Go,” urged Natasha and Clint sprinted off.  
  
It was just the two of them now.  
  
Natasha moved closer to Bucky. “You going to be okay, James?”  
  
Bucky grunted. “Yeah.” He was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. He’d caught his breath, at least.  
  
She nodded, but her eyes didn’t look like she believed him.  
  
“That’s them!” someone yelled and both of them sprang into action, concern temporarily forgotten.  
  
Natasha charged right into the fray, spinning acrobatically from target to target, somehow untouched by the bullets whizzing past her. Bucky, however, was less graceful. He held back and kept his distance, firing off rounds when the opportunity allowed but mostly focused on staying upright and not getting shot again.  
  
Blood had now completely soaked through the gauze, even as Bucky tightened his grip over the wound. He dove to the left to avoid a hail of machine gun fire and cursed as he felt a wave of dizziness crash over him. Stumbling to his feet, he shot wildly at the men and hit two of them before his gun clicked empty. Shit. He bolted from his position, refusing to be a sitting duck. He fumbled for a spare magazine with his left hand as he dodged bullets, nearly dropping it because his hands were so slick with blood. He managed to snap it in just as a bullet grazed his shoulder. Hissing, he dropped and rolled behind a streetlamp.  
  
“James!” Natasha called. She brought down the man she was grappling with her signature takedown.  
  
“I’m fine!” he hollered back, while letting off shots from behind his temporary cover.  
  
Where the hell was Clint? It had to have been more than eight minutes now. Natasha had taken down at least six of the enemies but more were coming from the distance and his ammo was slowly running out. It wasn’t going to be pretty if he had to resort to using his knife.  
  
Just then, a black SUV tore past him, running down three men in its way before pulling a tight U-turn to scatter the one around Natasha. It veered back, screeching to a halt beside Bucky.  
  
“Get in!” yelled Clint.  
  
Not needing to be told twice, Bucky dove into the backseat and slammed the door. Natasha joined them a moment later in the front. Even before her door fully closed, bullets pelted the outside of the car. The windows held, however. If there was one thing Bucky was thankful for today, it was armored vehicles.  
  
“Drive,” commanded Natasha.  
  
 “You got it.” Clint shifted gears sharply, and then gunned the vehicle down the road he came from. “Buckle up kids,” he grinned, “I’m about to break a few speed limits.”  
   
  


**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from the song "Thnks fr the Mmrs" by Fall Out Boy because I was at a loss for titles.


End file.
